


Bad Trip

by absynthesis



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Gen, Hangover, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:45:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absynthesis/pseuds/absynthesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows those lonely early-morning feelings, especially Roxy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Trip

I can’t sleep.

It’s 3:45AM, and I know that as a fact. I know that as a fact because the clock on my shitty computer is so kind enough as to sear the time into my sensitive eyes, not yet used to the glare of a bright screen.

It’s 3:45AM, and I can’t sleep.

I sit at the computer, nursing the remains of a hangover, doing everything I can to ignore the near-overpowering urge to pick up another bottle from my mom’s personal collection.

It’s so hard not to.

I scroll through my Pesterchum, looking for a friendly face to talk to. There are many people online, but none of them are who I’d consider a friend. Mostly just people I’ve met while I’m at my worst in the earliest hours of my day while my real friends were doing whatever the hell they do while they’re not online.

And then he logs on.

Of course, my heart throbs, and I immediately hover my cursor over his chumhandle, but I can’t bring myself to start up a conversation. I mean, I don’t want to look completely desperate, do I?

So I wait.

I wait for ten minutes.

I wait for twenty more, and I wait for thirty more than that.

I can feel the earth, or at least what is left of it, turn ever so slowly as the seconds tick by. In my head, I’m pleading with him, begging him to be the one who says something first. Please, just this once. I want to feel needed. I want to feel like I’m not a burden to you. I want to be someone you care enough about to message first.

Please, I need you.

As my mind cries out to him, I see the little idle icon pop up right next to his handle. I feel the beginnings of tears prick and sting at the backs of my eyes, and I squeeze them tightly shut. What else is more pathetic than a lonely, hung over girl crying in front of her desktop?

After an eternity (or maybe five or six minutes), the idle icon disappears, and with it, my resolve to wait. I jump at the chance, and mentally bash myself for being so desperate.

 

TG: heeeeeeeeyyyyyy yo what is up

 

Minutes pass, and nothing.

I sit back and bite my lip. He must be busy, after all, between robots and rapping and… Well, the whole Jake thing. I hug myself, feeling the early morning chill hit my bare legs and arms. I can feel the goose bumps rise on my exposed limbs and shiver.

After an acceptable enough time passed, I lean back in and make another attempt.

 

TG: diiiiirk

 

Of course, there’s no reply. It’s starting to get more and more like this, and it’s honestly scaring me to death. He barely ever messages me first anymore, and when he does, the conversations are short-lived. When they end, I always feel like I did something wrong.

Is this it, I wonder, has he finally gotten sick of me? All kinds of self-depreciating thoughts cycle through my head, and the tears I’ve been holding back for so long creep and slip through my mental barrier. Before I even realize it, I’m hugging my knees close to my chest and am sobbing softly into them.

I almost didn’t notice the sound of a new message.  
Almost.

 

TT: Hey, sorry about that. I’ve been busy lately.

TG: oh cool yo whats good

TG: hows it goin

 

And not for the first time, I act like a dog whose master finally came home after a long day at work, I jump at him. The high of a reply is enough to squash down my embarrassment and self-loathing, just like always.

 

TT: It’s going, I suppose. Say, would you mind if I discussed a private matter with you?

 

Oh.

 

TG: no sure man whats goin on  
TG: r u ok

TT: No, I’m fine. It’s just I need to muse for a bit. Get my head back in check.

TT: Would you mind? It’s about Jake.

TG: no omg say what u need to say im not stoppin you man

 

I can feel my heart shatter, and the high eventually starts feeling more like a bad trip. Of course, I listen to his thoughts, offering advice and a shoulder to metaphorically cry on. I want to be here for him and help him in whatever way I can. Regardless of my own fucked up feelings, he’s still one of my best friends.

What the hell kind of shitsmear of a person, much less a friend, would I be if I ignored what’s bothering him?

I continue to hug my knees and blink back my tears as I watch each new reply appear on my screen, the gears in my mind going into overtime as I try to figure out the best words of advice and support that I can offer to him.

Some time goes by, and eventually I can tell he’s breathing a bit easier since that load’s off his shoulders. I grin, despite myself, knowing I can help him so much just by being here for him whenever he needs me to be.

 

TT: I’m going to get go and get ready for bed.

TT: I think you should too. It’s really late for you by now, isn’t it?

 

I look at the clock and shrug.

 

TG: yeaaaaaa its like 5 in the morning by now

TT: Get some sleep, Roxy. I’ll talk to you later.

 

And with that, he’s gone. And I’m alone again, quickly crashing back down to earth from the high of simply having a conversation with him. At least I can take some relief in that I don’t feel so hung over anymore.

I smile bitterly and reach for another bottle.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this was more of a vent process, but I really liked it after I wrote it, so I decided to submit it. Please don't offer criticism; I was feeling really unstable when I wrote it and I haven't edited it. I liked the raw feel to it.


End file.
